


Reiteration

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Sentinel Thursday Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is building......</p><p>A weird, angsty response to Sentinel Thursday Challenge #497 - blast</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reiteration

They had walked out of the building – office, factory, library ; he couldn’t work out which – and had started towards the other side of the plaza, when Sandburg broke into a run. In moments he was yards away; Jim did not seem to be able to walk properly here. The plaza was strewn with rubble, and lifting his feet to negotiate the chunks of stone felt a gargantuan task. He was reduced to stumbling forward, whereas Sandburg was already far off, almost bouncing over the fallen stone. The air was hot and dry, the sun a blur of yellow-white hanging over the buildings that stood far opposite, and his voice when he called out was scratchy and hoarse, scraping out through a parched throat.

“Sandburg! Come back!”

Sandburg simply turned and waved, by now just a matchstick man against the glaring light, balancing on the stones. Behind him the shimmering heat haze rippled and tore apart, and the buildings on the other side shattered and swelled outwards in slow-motion; a boiling mass of flames and debris sailing upwards, spreading out over the plaza which shook apart with the roar of the blast.

Sandburg flew with it all, like a scrap of paper twisting and charring in the heat of a campfire, to land in a crumple on the heaped stones. Gigantic slabs of flying concrete fell with him, to cover and crush, and he was gone from Jim’s sight.

And Jim screamed his name; screamed and screamed, dragging himself across the debris, deafened by the blast, half-blinded by the light. He reached out to grapple with rock he could barely see, his hands tearing on the sharp edges. 

The stone under his hands softened and changed, and he was tearing at fabric, shouting half-words that his mouth refused to form, twisting his head to try to see through the fog across his eyes. He knew all at once he was in the Loft in his own bed, and strong arms were holding him against the covers – suffocating, suffocating. The shackles of the dream split and he howled himself awake, suddenly lucid, suddenly aware of dawn light streaming in, and Sandburg half sitting, half lying on the bed in his singlet, holding him tightly, while Jim gasped like he’d run a marathon, his muscles shaking with the strain. Only after many moments could he hear and understand what Sandburg was saying, over and over again:

“I’ve got you, Jim. I’ve got you…..”

~~~

The jungle was green and heavy all around them, deadening the sound of their footfalls. Sandburg walked at his right, a constant presence. Jim was dressed in his fatigues, ripped cloth across his forehead and paint on the skin of his upper arms, tracing an intricate design. Sandburg, in contrast, wore a type of camouflage pattern Jim had never seen before – a swirl of grey and white which seemed to change shape as he walked along, so if Jim looked out of the corner of his eye, Sandburg was a wraith, not a man.

They reached a clearing – an oval of bare dirt about twenty yards wide - and right in the centre was a slim, black rectangle. And Sandburg said:

“Look, Jim! That’s my laptop!” and walked forward.

“Sandburg,” said Jim, far too quietly. “Sandburg, it’s a trick!” But he knew Sandburg hadn’t heard him, because the man bent, picked the black thing off the soil and turned to face Jim.

“Sandburg, let it go, it’s all wrong!”

But Jim hadn’t really said that. He’d tried to, but he’d really only thought it. And Sandburg smiled as the laptop became a book in his hands.

Jim saw the book open, but as it opened it became a box covered in wires and flashing lights and he reached out to stop Sandburg going any further. But Sandburg was already grasping the wires, saying:

“It’s okay, Jim, it’s okay. It’s all over. I’ve got you.”

It was dark in the Loft, but as his breathing calmed again and the shaking stopped, he knew that Sandburg was still with him, still holding him, rocking him gently. Jim forced his head upwards and their eyes met. Sandburg released him quickly, shuffling back off the bed to stare down at him for a brief moment, anxiety in the wide eyes. Then he quickly turned his head and stared at the bed-covers instead. 

“Chief”, said Jim. 

There must have been something in his shaky voice that brought Sandburg back to him to sit tentatively on the edge of the bed and reach out his arm to encircle Jim’s shoulders. 

“It’s okay, Jim. I’ve got you.”

Jim turned to him with a ferocity that surprised both of them, and clung on until the terror of loss receded, and they were just two men leaning against each other, watching grey morning light grow around them.

 

~~~

It wasn’t the Volvo, but it was undoubtedly Blair’s car. Blair was walking towards it, keys in his hand, when Jim felt the ground tremble. He ran forward, but someone got in his way. Every time he moved, someone – he couldn’t work out who - stopped him and held him back, while the ground shook and the car vibrated. By the time Blair’s hand touched the door, the trembling and shaking had increased till Jim could see nothing but a blur, and then whole thing erupted in a vast billow of smoke and fire, bits of metal spinning off in a sun-burst like a firework display. Bright petrol flames lapped at the blackened skeleton of the car and there was no Blair, no Blair at all.

“No, no! Please, no!”

“Jim, Jim, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay, I promise, I’ve got you. Wake up, man. C’mon, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you…”

His face was crushed against Blair’s chest, arms wrapped round his waist in a crushing grip. Blair kept petting and stroking him, until he felt it was safe to let go. And as he relaxed, Blair slid further down in the bed to wrap his own arms around Jim, hooking a knee over Jim’s leg, pulling him close, pressing his lips to Jim’s temple and cheek.

“Blair…”

“Yeah, Jim, I’m here, I’m going nowhere. I’ve got you…”

 

~~~

He knew it had to be a portent, it had to be a warning. Blair had laughed his theory off as a product of an over-active Sentinel imperative to protect the Guide from horrible ends, but Jim knew he had to take it seriously. So when the air shimmered in front of him as he approached Deakin’s clapboard house and he felt the ground thrumming, he didn’t duck and run, but instead looked round automatically for Blair.

The dirt heaved under his feet as the house burst outwards in a shower of wood and brick. He was tossed upwards and backwards, the heat from the fireball flaring across his skin, and then hit the ground hard - nothing to break his fall - and he felt his spine jar. Something heavy lay across him. As his sight cleared, he saw a shattered beam from the bomber’s house on his thighs, one end buried into his shirt just below his ribs. Breathing was hard.

Blair came scrambling over the debris, panting, muttering “Fuck, fuck, fuck….”. Jim watched his progress as if detached from his position on the ground, though he knew he was still there, somewhere. He saw Blair spot him, his expression switching from relief to complete horror as the damage became apparent. In a slither and a skid Blair was there, lifting him tenderly, cradling his head, one hand floating indecisively across the dangerous beam and the growing stain of blood.

“Jim, Jim!”

Jim didn’t feel he could answer just then.

“Hold on, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay, Jim, I’ve got you…..”

The leaden, empty feeling of detachment dissipated. Jim was no longer just watching. He felt it all – the throb in his back and shoulders, the sledgehammer blow that was the huge splinter, Blair’s heart thudding with panic in his chest.

“I’ve got you, baby. Hold on, you’ll be okay….”

Jim felt Blair’s breath on his face, and turned into his embrace. The pain flared and he arched his back with a moan.

“Jim! You can hear me? Lie still, you idiot! We don’t know what you’ve done yet!”

“It’s all right. I can feel my legs.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s a blessing. Though I guarantee you’ll find walking a damn sight easier when we’ve got this piece of door out of your side…”

“I’m okay…”

“How can you be okay, you moron! You are, in fact, the least okay I’ve seen you for quite a while!”

Jim grinned weakly at him.

“You got me?”

Blair looked at him blankly for a second, and then tightened his grip around Jim’s shoulders, pressing his head close.

“Of course I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Jim shifted, just to register again the general and surprising wholeness of his limbs and the continued connection of his head to other important parts of his body, and pressed back.

“Then I’m okay.”

_-Fin-_


End file.
